Xena The Warrior Princess
by buttercups3
Summary: In the middle of the episode The Princess and The Pear, Sweets and Bones get into a car accident. A lost scene from Season 4. Just a little friendship fic between Sweets and Bones.


_While I can post, I decided to move another story off my livejournal to this site. If you read over at LJ this may not be new to you. Spoilers are for The Princess and the Pear, season 4. This takes place in the middle of the episode, right after Sweets successfully bids on the sword and is driving Bones home…If you've seen the episode you know something bad happens next. :) But, this is mainly a bit of fluff I wrote a while back to feature my two favorite characters on the show Bones!_

_Disclaimer: I don't own these lovelies—I'm just here to play._

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_**Xena the Warrior Princess**

Sweets' head was searing with pain. He felt like he was suspended in a kind of subatomic goo, flailing his arms and legs in an attempt to move. He was 10 years old and had fallen from a tree after attempting to get into his neighbor's room to steal the coveted Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle party wagon. His head throbbed and his arm was contorted vaguely like a hockey stick. Guilty, he wanted to crawl away so that his parents couldn't find out the truth of what he had been trying to do. But he only saw blinding, searing light ahead of him.

_I'm not supposed to walk toward the light,_ he told himself with assurance. But he wasn't 10 anymore, he was 5, and his biological father was railing on him with a whip. The whip felt like it had been doused in acid or salt, and each time it stung his shoulders he screamed inside the deep well of his own personal hell. But he couldn't let himself cry out loud, or his father would win.

His head continued throbbing.

_Sweets! Sweets! Talk to me,_ his subconscious said. His subconscious was being very demanding. It's voice was grating his fragile ear drums. And why was it being so formal with him, calling him by is last name? Sweets giggled a little.

Sweets opened his eyes. Dr. Brennan was doing her best to lean over to him, though she was standing outside the passenger side of his smashed vehicle. Sweets was collapsed at the steering wheel, his head resting uncomfortably on the inflated airbag. He could feel a number of small abrasions on his face from when the airbag deployed, and his head was pounding as if someone was beating him with a mallet.

Gazing at Dr. Brennan, Sweets suddenly had a flashback to what had just happened. He had been hit by a car from the side, forcing him off the road. Then he had come to briefly to see Dr. Brennan battling a knight with a medieval sword? He must be delirious. But that was his memory nevertheless. Dr. Brennan had kicked ass, like Xena the Warrior Princess.

He should probably say something to her. "Hmm mm fung," Sweets said confidently. Then he grew confused.

"Sweets, I've called an ambulance. It should be here any minute. Are you ok, you were giggling to yourself. Can you hear me?" Her brow was furrowed.

He nodded. Ugh, his head was killing. Note to self—no more nodding. He giggled again. He saw Dr. Brennan's concerned face through a haze of slushy air.

It seemed an instant later that several EMTs appeared next to the driver side and were gently helping Sweets out of the door. His mind was beginning to emerge from its haze, and as the EMTs helped sit him down in the back of the ambulance, they were asking him questions.

"What is your name?"

"Lance Sweets."

"How old are you?"

"Twenty-four."

Sweets was unnaturally ecstatic to learn that he was answering the questions correctly. Or so it seemed, since Dr. Brennan was nodding encouragingly as an EMT examined her as well. All of a sudden he was overcome with nausea. He leaned over the side of the truck and vomited.

He coughed. "Oops. Sorry," he apologized to no one in particular. A few moments later Sweets was sitting next to Dr. Brennan in the ambulance, and they were on their way to the hospital.

Sweets looked cautiously at her. "Am I remembering this correctly…did you just do battle with some kind of medieval black knight?"

Dr. Brennan laughed a little. "Yes, that did happen."

"Ok. Woah. Weird."

"Yes, it was very strange," Brennan patted Sweets' arm like she would a child. Normally Sweets would have been annoyed by the gesture, but he felt comforted in her presence at this moment. This was the first car accident that he had ever been involved in, and he was glad she was there.

"We should call someone? Booth?" Sweets asked her. He suddenly thought about the calls he would need to make to Daisy, his insurance company, and…who else?

"We'll worry about that once they check your head at the hospital, ok? You probably have a concussion."

"My ears are ringing," Sweets offered.

"Probably from the percussion of the airbags."

"Are you alright, Dr. Brennan?"

"I'm fine. Just a little…shaken up." Sweets unconsciously moved a little closer to her, and they sat in silence for the rest of the ride.

At the hospital, Dr. Brennan was checked once more and deemed fine. She stood next to Sweets who was sitting on a bed, having the cut on his forehead attended to and his eyes checked for signs of concussion.

"You do have a concussion, Mr. Sweets," the physician said kindly.

"Dr. Sweets," Dr. Brennan interjected. Sweets smiled, though he was not in the habit of bringing up his doctorates to MDs.

"Uh, sorry," the doctor said, gazing at his young patient with shock. "You'll be fine. You shouldn't be alone for the next 24 to 48 hours. You can take some ibuprofen for the headache. Have someone wake you up every couple of hours tonight and ask you a few questions to make sure you are functioning correctly. If you notice any persistent symptoms, make sure you see your primary care physician."

Sweets wanted to nod, but he remembered the pain of last time he had tried to move his head, and simply said, "I understand. Thanks."

When Dr. Brennan and Sweets were both released, Dr. Brennan said, "Do you have someone who can watch you tonight?"

Sweets was touched by the gentleness in her voice. "Yeah, I'll call Daisy now. She can give us both a ride home."

Dr. Brennan said, "Thank you. That sounds fine."

"Are you going to tell Booth what happened?" Sweets asked, eying her.

"I think I'll call him in the morning. There's no point in worrying him, as we are both perfectly intact. He shouldn't be leaving his house in his condition anyway." Sweets had to think a moment and then remembered that Booth was suffering from a back injury. He was in worse shape than they were, actually.

Sweets agreed that this seemed the best course of action and took out his phone.

"Hello?" said his girlfriend. She sounded sleepy. Gazing at his phone, Sweets realized it was 11 o'clock at night.

"Hey, Daisy. Did I wake you? I'm sorry."

"No..." Daisy yawned, betraying herself. "What's up, baby?"

Sweets swallowed, trying to think of how to phrase this without panicking his recently slumbering girlfriend.

"Um, Dr. Brennan and I are fine, but we got into a car accident coming home from the auction at the Magicon."

He paused as Daisy gasped and cried, "Are you guys ok!"

"Yes, yes. We're fine, Daisy. Don't worry. I…I have a minor head injury." Daisy exhaled. He hated to think of the worry he was causing her. She remained silent.

"Dais? Can you come and pick us up? My car got towed. We're at GW Hospital."

"Of course. I'll be there in a few minutes."

"We'll wait out front."

As Sweets and Dr. Brennan were lingering in front of the hospital, Dr. Brennan turned to him. "You said that you were adopted, right?" she asked out of the blue.

"Um, yeah. Yes," Sweets answered taken aback, wondering where this was going. He remembered mentioning his adoption to Brennan and Booth when the duo had been preparing to go undercover in the circus.

"Is Sweets your adopted parents' name?"

Sweets eyed Brennan with growing interest. "Yes."

"Do you know where you were born?"

"I don't have my birth certificate, but I know I was born somewhere in northern West Virginia. Hence my hick first name: Lance."

"Hick? Lance is the name given to a variety of pole weapons," Dr. Brennan corrected him, confused.

Lance laughed a little, his mind stuck on the phallic implications of what she had just stated. "I always found my name a little white trashy, but hey, it's my name. It's part of my identity for better or worse…Pole weapons. Haha!" Lance couldn't help himself. He was loopy from the accident.

"I used to hate the name Temperance," Brennan interrupted, looking startled by his amusement. Sweets sometimes wondered if she willfully denied innuendo or genuinely did not pick up on it.

"Really? But it's a beautiful name! It means virtue, moderation of actions and feelings. Abstinence from alcohol!" Sweets laughed merrily. "It suits you."

Dr. Brennan raised an eyebrow. "I do not abstain from alcohol. But, I've grown to appreciate my name." She paused. "Why did you decide to become a psychologist and not a psychiatrist?"

Woah—Sweets started at the question. What was this, sharing hour? He was finding Dr. Brennan's sudden interest in him rather endearing in his fuzzy condition.

"Did you not perform well enough to get into med school?" she added a little mischievously.

"Hey! Them's fighting words." Sweets complained. "I'll have you know that I'm an excellent standardized test taker. I did, in fact, take the MCAT and scored in the top 1%." Sweets felt a little miffed. He hated when Dr. Brennan questioned his intelligence. "I seriously considered medical school and even attended a semester of it…"

"Yes?" Dr. Brennan prodded.

"Psychiatrists and psychologists have different approaches to mental health. You're not going to like this, but I prefer the more intellectual, subjective diagnostic and treatment techniques of psychology. I'm not a fan of medicating except in more extreme situations. Plus, when I met the people in medical school, I found them to be…less interested in considering the whole patient. Less interested in listening to people's stories."

"Do you ever regret your decision to discontinue medical school?"

Sweets thought for a moment. "Sometimes…mostly at times when people accuse me of not being a real doctor!" he smiled. "Sometimes I do wish I could prescribe, though. I may go back to med school at some point. As you people love to remind me, I'm still young."

Sweets was surprised at the turn this conversation had taken. Dr. Brennan was actually digging at a pretty deep insecurity of his. He often felt judged for not having a medical degree, as though he was a lesser mental health expert. But part of him really resented the way medical doctors approached patients. After all, he had been a patient far too many times in his early life. What had the doctors done for him except mend his bones and send him home back into harm's way at his biological father's house?

At this moment with Sweets lost in thought and Dr. Brennan observing him with interest, Daisy pulled up and flagged them energetically into her small, beat-up Honda Civic. Lance carefully bowed into the car, having hit his head on its frame numerous times in the past.

"Lancelot! I'm so sorry about the accident! Are you ok?" Daisy kissed him fully on the lips and gently stroked his cheek, forgetting momentarily that her forensic anthropologist hero had also entered the car.

"Dr. Brennan!" she shrieked shrilly, remembering. At the noise, Sweets miserably plugged his ears. His eardrums were pulsing. Dr. Brennan also jumped a little in the back seat and stuck her fingers in her ears.

As they drove off into the night, Sweets found himself feeling very grateful toward Dr. Brennan—for protecting him against the dangers of the evening with her sword-wielding super powers and even more for the friendly companionship. Exhausted, he leaned back in the seat, making a mental note to thank her tomorrow when he was feeling more himself again.


End file.
